


What, Me, Jealous?

by Entropyrose



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Anal, Anger Bang, Angry!Matt, Established Relationship, Explicit Sex, Jealous!Frank, Jealousy, M/M, Rough Sex, Smut, Stalking behavior, Very explicit sex, Very slight dub-con, unhealthy relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 00:50:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9098233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Entropyrose/pseuds/Entropyrose
Summary: Frank is jealous. Matt is pissed. You do the math. Or, “What—what—you think I’m being jealous or somethin’?”“Psychotic, Frank.” Matt finishes off half the glass and slams it down with a loud ‘CLINK’. “The word you’re looking for is psychotic.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, this is explicit stuff, so if you are super-sensitive to slightly rough guy sex please look away now. Frank's POV. So that tells you something right there. Enjoy!

 

So, there’s this guy who’s been hangin’ around Matt lately. Real, starbucks-sipping hair-gel-wearing, white-collar type. At first I thought he might just be another case—like maybe the new ads were working, you know? Bringing in clientele with heavier pockets. For a second it almost makes me relieved—to think that Matt is finally going into the big-time and he won’t  be stuck having to defend piss-ant dirt-bag criminals any more.

 

By the second day, I spot them walking to brunch and Whitey’s hovering a little closer, leaning in and they’re smiling like they know a secret that nobody else is in on. Matt makes some comment about the Yankees losing the night before and the guy gives him a playful tap on the shoulder. I squeeze my M-16 a little tighter and adjust the focus on the scope. You know, just to get a better look.  I’m twelve stories up watching some douchebag in Armani put his feelers on Red— _my Red—_ and there ain’t a goddamn thing I can do about it.

 

Now, I’m not an idiot. Matt could knock this guy on his smug ass in a flat second—but Matt ain’t been around like me, either. And he doesn’t see the look this asshole is giving him as he lets his thumb linger a little too long on Matt’s elbow. Matt shoots him a tight smile—the one that says he’s a tad uncomfortable—and that gets me grinning. _Tough luck, dumb shit, he doesn’t need your help. That’s what his cane is for._ As if Matt even needs that.

My trigger finger spasms—itches like the devil—but it’s an inch away from the pull and Whitey hasn’t done anything unforgivable. At least, not yet.

 

I don’t talk to Matt about it when he gets home. Figure, what the hell’d be the point? He already knows I’m deranged. No need to remind him by proddin’ around for information about this new stranger that just seems to have slunk out of the cracks.

 

Matt falls asleep on my chest during the evening news and I find myself staring at his briefcase. Hell, no. Not worth risking it. Matt would be awakened by the slightest rustle of papers and besides I’m not that good at reading Braille…yet.

 

Day three, Whitey meets him in the park and brings fuckin’ lattes or some shit—the kind that cost 15 bucks a pop—and Matt is clearly impressed. I can’t help but let a growl rumble out. _The fuck does this guy think he is?_ Matt’s head snaps upward and suddenly he is glaring at me—right through the lens of my scope. For just a split second, my blood runs ice-cold. I should have known it was a bad idea to pick only the five-story ledge this time.

 

I don’t make it home that night. Kingpin’s goons keep me busy on the docks till 0400, and after that I head to the bunker. Gotta feed Max… and my guns could use a good cleaning, anyway.

 

Day 4, Whitey doesn’t come around, but Matt’s checking his phone and smiling a lot. I listen in on his convo with Foggy and Karen, but talk of Mr. Moneybags doesn’t come up. Which is weird. Thought this guy was a client…? I play it cool and keep my distance. Maybe it was a chance encounter. Maybe the guy took the fucking hint finally and went off to prowl elsewhere.

 

* * * * *

 

“You want to tell me what the hell you think you’re doing?”

 

Matt is waiting for me on the other side of the door that night. I’m not about to let him think I didn’t see that coming. I ignore the hand planted on his hip and the glare he is firing at me from the other side of those burgundy shades and I slide a sneer at him, making sure he hears it in my voice.

 

“Well, shit, Red—“

 

“No.” Matt stops me, one hand on my chest. “No, Frank. Cut the bullshit.”

 

 I’m one step in the door so I drop my gear and slam it shut. “What?” There’s a lot of gravel in my voice, because I am pissed, and I am pissed that _he_ is pissed and he goddamn well knows it. I plant a boot right in front of his—but carefully, you know, cuz his feet are bare—and make myself bigger than him, puffing out my chest and praying that it’s enough to get him to back off.

 

Matt takes a step back and flicks that pretty pink tongue of his over his lips. It’s a move I’ve seen a hundred times—that deep inhale, the pursed mouth—and I know there’s black clouds forming behind his shoulders and it’s taking all he’s got just to hold back the storm. Pissed as I am, I gotta tell you, that mouth makes me weak. “You know what I’m talking about,” he says, his voice softer this time. “Following me. The park? _Really_? Was your rifle loaded?”

 

“Of course it was!” _What a stupid question_! I realize too late that it was an even stupider answer.

 

“Lovely!” Matt’s hands go up into his hair and he turns on his heel and heads past the living room. “What— were you going to kill the guy, Frank?”

 

I shrug. Because, in all honesty… “Maybe.”

 

Matt throws a dirty look at me before picking up a glass from the kitchen counter and turning on the tap.

 

Okay, so now I’m getting the silent treatment. I stalk a little closer, casting a shadow on the gray tile of the kitchen.  “What—what—you think I’m being jealous or somethin’?”

 

“Psychotic, Frank.” Matt finishes off half the glass and slams it down with a loud ‘CLINK’. “The word you’re looking for is psychotic.”

 

“Yeah, alright…” Fuck this. I pick up my shit and head toward the doorway. I don’t need this shit right now. Got enough on my mind without having to deal with his drama.

 

“Would it hurt you to trust me? Just once?”

 

Behind the anger, there’s a hint of desperation in his voice and I’m helpless to fight as it draws me back in toward the living room rug. “Doesn’t have anything to do with it, Red. You know that.” And in truth, it doesn’t. It doesn’t make a damn bit of difference whether he’s out there scaling the rooftops at night takin out bad-guys or tucked in bed with his little footy-pajamas on, I’m not about to stop. Can’t get this guy out of my head.

 

…I’m not worried—nah—because any shit-bag, any low-life crooked has-been piece of garbage that threatens his existence is going to get a healthy dose of jacketed lead right through his fucking teeth.

 

What does scare me—and I mean, it scares the shit out of me—is just  how much I am …feeling… for him. Can’t really explain it—he’s a royal pain in my ass. Does for my kill-drive what Frank Sheeran did for Jimmy Hoffa . But I can’t get him out of my head. And the only time I get a break is when he’s in my sight, in my arms, where nobody can touch him. And even then, I’m busy staring.

 

“You’ve got to try and let things go.” Matt’s voice is gentler, now, but the words grate against my instincts. His arms go around my neck and I can faintly smell an aftershave that isn’t his and sure as hell isn’t mine. But his fingernails gently scraping against the back of my neck make me go weak in the knees. It’s been too long—three days too long—and I’ve been holding out, just for him. The jealousy gnawing away at my nerves has lit up my insides and has me turning to rut against him, just like that. I ignore the dull squeak he gives as I back him up against the counter. “Frank---!” I can’t reply with my tongue in his mouth, so I just let out a deep moan and grab hold of that skinny waist of his, digging my thumbs in, letting him know I mean business.

 

Matt’s neck is next, and I wet it down with my lips and take a long drag, secretly inspecting the fragrance there. He has come up for air and caught his breath, a breath I quickly steal again by rubbing my chin-stubble into him. He’s backing away, as far as he can get, a small snicker sliding out. Yeah, he goddamn loves it and he goddamn knows it too. My dick is throbbing now, hard against the inside of my jeans and rubbing up and down the warm place between Matt’s thighs. I’m gonna remind him. I gonna remind him just who’s he is, gonna mark him up so good that everybody knows. And he ain’t complaining.

 

“Frank…” There’s my name again, passing through that full, soft mouth, and for a second I can’t decide where I want my cock buried first. When he says my name, I burn.

 

His hands are digging under my shirt now, and I think he plans on taking it off with the jacket over my head because he grunts a little, struggling with getting the layers over my shoulders. I laugh a little at that and help him along, dog tags jingling as I free myself. “So what’s his name, Red?” He flashes me a look through those dark red glasses of his and I slide them off. Those eyes—so dark they’re almost black, *purposefully *never quite focused on mine.

 

Matt lets out an incredulous groan. “I suppose I should be thankful you’re asking me instead of hunting him down in some database.”

 

I shrug. “Who says I haven’t?” I dip my tongue into the groove of his collar-bone and lap at the silky skin. I love the way his body fits so perfectly in my arms—his biceps curving into the place above my rib-cage, his flat stomach molding into mine, so warm I can feel my cheeks flush. I lift him up by that perfect, round ass of his and thrust forward, propping him up onto his marble counter-top. His dick is pressing into my navel, now, trapped and aching inside his jeans just like mine is.

 

He lets out an excited little gasp as his nails scale their way down my back, rough and sharp. A warm puff of his breath blows against the back of my ear as his thighs clamp down on my hips, drawing me closer.

 

“Careful, Red.” I buck against him again and this time there’s nothing keeping his ass from sliding back. The half-full glass tumbles into the sink and I can’t stop myself from cracking a smile. _Steeeeeer-ike._ I bring my face to his, panting into his open mouth, my back so stiff it’s sore as I *force* myself to freeze. “Any further encouragement,  and there won’t be any going back.”

 

He pauses before he answers, devastatingly dark eyelashes veiling the galaxy that swirls in his eyes. “Little late for that anyway.” And suddently he’s leaning into me, over my shoulder, nibbling on my earlobe. My trapped, aching dick jumps. I can feel the damp spot in my jeans where I’m already leaking out.

 

“Fuck…”  I start peeling off his tee-shirt. I’m going to do him right here on this counter. I’m going to fuck him right into the sink if I have to. Whatever it takes, however long it takes—he’s going to remember who he belongs to. He doesn’t put up any fight at all—which, honestly, surprises me. His kisses are still angry, whatever amount of passion in them there might be, and he bites down viciously on my bottom lip, drawing it into the tight smile he’s made of his mouth.  Doesn’t matter. He’s not getting out of this and he knows it. I toss the shirt and it lands on the tile with a loud ‘FLAP’ as my hands fly to his belt. I have half a mind to tear it off him and crack it against his bared ass just for being such a tease—for playing me, like I’m some kind of jealous boyfriend. Which I’m not. Totally not.  His jeans slide off his hips and land in a lump at my feet. I’m about to help myself out, too, but Matt’s already there, those long, elegant fingers slipping me out of my cage and working me free. I fly out, the head slapping shamelessly against his inner thigh and he lets out a soft, nervous laugh.

 

This ain’t the first rodeo. I stopped counting after 13. 13 times I couldn’t let him get away. 13 times I couldn’t stop myself from wanting him, from w _anting to be with him._ He had worked his way into my bloodstream before I even knew it. Thinking about him on me, his body curving inward at my touch, that face he makes when I’m plowing into him so hard and so fast that it hurts the both of us…

 

“Aren’t you going to ask me?” Matt is halfway onto the counter, now, his back against the cold sink, hair flying freely around his face as he stares me down. I’m crawling up to join him, little room though there is for my fat ass, one knee between his legs and another balancing precariously on the wobbly barstool beneath me.

 

“What?” I pop his stiff nipple out of my mouth, a string of drool coating my lips, to glare at him angrily. Blind or not, he fucking *knows* I’m not happy. He is grinning down at me, cupping my face and stroking little circles with his thumbs like *that’s* supposed to soothe me.

 

“Aren’t you going to ask me who he is?”

 

Oh…that is fucking * _it*._ Mystery Man is now *officially* interrupting our good time. I flip him onto his stomach with very little effort and he just keeps *laughing*. “No,” I growl. “No I’m not. S’poosed to trust you, remember?”

 

There it is—between those two glorious mounds of muscular flesh—is hole, tight, pink and aching. I dip a finger in—dry—and his head flies back with a gasp. I’m not a dumbshit. If he wanted to, he could lick the fucking *tar* out of me. He’s not—which means he likes it. So I give him another one and his gasp turns into a pleasured cry. “Uhhh…Frank….God!” He is gripping the faucet, his balls streaking almost comically against the cold marble countertop. His hole grasps onto my fingers, so hot and tight I have to wiggle in just to keep hold, burying my knuckles and curving upward, into the muscle under his tailbone. I spit on them, working them in and out, rewarded by the string of inaudible expletives that fall from his gaping mouth.

 

“Gonna remind you, baby…” My knee slides from the barstool, bringing my hips into alignment, letting the underside of my dick brush against my fingers and his puckered hole. I force back a shiver, swallow down hard—that perfect ass of his captures my scrotum and squeezes, and I’m already spurting out thick, white-colored pre-cum that peppers his opening. I clamp a fist around my cock, lining it with his hole, and grab hold of his knee, turning him to face me. I want to see his face when I enter. I want to watch him getting off on my cock, the way I’ve been envisioning it for the past three days.  I pinch his perfect nipples with my free hand, alternating a few times before dipping down to his erection and latching on.

 

He cries so hard his head flies back, but I keep his focus, interlacing our fingers and brushing his thumb over the seeping head of his cock.

 

“C’mon, Red…”

 

Good Catholic boys always look away. For a moment, I wonder if he did that with his girlfriends, too; half-hiding his face under that feathery mound of red hair, teeth clenching together with his bottom lip in between, _god this gets me so hot._ My cock is twitching in my hand. Maybe I waited too long. Should’ve gotten off in the shower this morning. Should’ve known that Red driving me to madness would do this to me.

 

Matt follows suit, stroking his length as I fuck him with my fingers. His chest is flushed pink, belly ebbing sharply to his ragged breath. A white pearl of precum dots his head and smatters against the hair below my navel. “Uhuhh…Frank…it’s…it’s not enough.”

 

I am right there, lined up and ready, so ready for him. It’s only in that moment that I realize that I am the one in control. “You…you gotta say it…” My tongue sweeps over my chapped lips as I slide my fingers out of him. Didn’t do a damn bit of good to stretch him. His hole closes tightly, like I was never there.

 

Matt lets out a frustrated growl, bending one knee, presenting himself to me. “Aghh…C’mon…Frank….”

 

“Nuh-uh.” I breathe it against his lips as I lean down to nuzzle his face, shaking my head for effect. I return to his rock-hard nipples, flicking my fingers against him, the fingers that are warm and moist from being inside of him. “You want it, you gotta say it.”

 

“P—please…”

 

I bump against that tight hole, sending sparks through my cock that shatter my resolve. “Please what?”

 

“Please—Frank--….Fuck m—“

 

Close enough. I push forward with a guttural groan, my ass clenching so tight I can feel the burn all the way down to my calves. His hole is merciless, unforgiving—it takes me a second, more powerful thrust to open him up. He captures the head of my dick and swallows me whole.

 

He presents and his breath hitches, a long stream of slick coats inside as I bury my cock in him to the hilt. I barely move. If I do, I know I am going to go off, just like that, and I want to make this last. I need him to *remember* this.

 

“So go on,” I tease. “Who is Mystery Lover Boy?” I shove inside a little, locking my hips onto his ass with a loud ‘smack’. His head lifts off the table with a keening wail as he strokes himself on my cock.

 

“Hm-mh.” So he thinks it’s his turn to shake his head, bottom lip buried in his teeth. I wiggle my free thumb between them, giving his mouth something else to work at. It’s wet and hot and it’s all I can do to keep from plowing into him and ending it, right here and now. His tongue laps at the tip of it, his dick jumping to this new added sensation.

 

I chuckle softly, throwing my head back. It lets me twist upward inside, the head of my cock swelling and bumping up against the hard ridge of his prostate. I’m rewarded with the sound of my name flying frantically off his lips and the overwhelming tightness as he chokes off the blood flow to my dick with his tight walls.

 

“Is he as good as me?” I’m thrusting in, now, nonstop, pounding him against the hard marble. I bite down on my own lip, the pain helping me to back off a little on my climax. “Hmm? Is his cock big and meaty like mine?”

 

“Don’t…don’t flatter yourself.” Matt is stroking himself off and suddenly I find myself getting jealous of that, too. Nobody is allowed to touch that. That is mine. I slap his hand away and take the reins, pre-cum coating the underside of his cock and pooling at the base of his balls.

 

“Does he fuck you like this?” I let my other hand fly across his ass and he jumps, subsequently slamming my dick inside of him and I am very rapidly losing control. “Huh, Altar Boy? Does he give it to you good, like I do? Do you yell out *his* name when he fucks you?”

 

“Uhh..god…Frank…” He has completely dissolved right there in front of me, arms shaking as he reaches up to tug at my hair. He fails—it’s too short to grab onto right now. He settles for the dog tags around my neck and pulls so hard against them I think the chain might snap. My hips slap against his ass and he’s squeezing down tight, milking the cum right out of me as a groan rips out from deep inside my chest.  My balls are drawing up tight as the light explodes behind my eyes, shockwaves of pleasure glittering up my spine and stealing the air out from my lungs. Warm wetness coats my fingers, slicking Matt’s dick as I pump away. His head comes off the table, a gasp stuck in his throat. I look down and we’re both covered in white glaze, panting and convulsing, riding the aftershocks.

 

“Stop, stop! For god’s sake—!” Matt’s hand grips mine, his leg spasming out, stilling my movements as his cum gushes out over his pulsating dick. He gasps, going limp as he slumps back, head resting right against the faucet.

 

I touch my forehead to his—we are both glazed with sweat (among other things). His back has got to be killing him—we’ve never done it on the beveled edge of solid marble before. I slip an arm under his back, buffering the impact, enjoying the feel of being lost inside of him.

 

* * * * *

 

We shower silently. I watch the water cascade down his back, memorizing the outline of the pale scars that run crosswise over his shoulder blades, biceps and the nape of his neck. He is gorgeous beyond words. I never thought I’d be attracted to a guy, let alone one that parades around in red Underoos at night…

 

I reach for him, sweeping my thumb across the suds in a half-assed attempt at a crescent moon, and he brushes my hand away. “Don’t.”

 

“Don’t do that,” I counter, flattening my chest to his back in one step even as he stiffens, my hand coming around to his navel. I rest my chin on his shoulder even though I know that there’s no amount of puppy-dog bullshit that’s gonna make this right. I don’t give a shit though. I can’t take it. Can’t just let him be. He is in my blood, now.

 

“You have no right to follow me.”

 

 _Like fuck I don’t._ “Yeah. Okay, red. You got it.”

 

Matt shakes his head, because he is sensing right past my bullshit, but I must’ve won for now, because he sinks back into me, tilting his head towards the spray of water as it rinses us clean. “He’s my realtor,” he says finally, and his shoulders sag. “Foggy and I finally got a few good cases under our belt…not many, but enough. I’ve been consulting with him about an office space just east of 12th Street.”

 

“He’s got the hots for you. You know that, right?”

 

Matt shrugs in typical lawyer-fashion. “How is that anything I can control?”

 

“Well,” I purr, running wide circles over each of his hips with my thumbs. “If you weren’t so deliciously sexy…”

 

“Gee,” he says—and I can *hear* the proverbial eye roll—“Thanks. Just…promise me you’ll try to lay off a little, okay?”

 

“Oh no, here comes one of those ‘He’s Just Not That Into You speeches…”

 

“I mean it, Frank. I’ve got this. I can take care of myself.”

 

“Aww, but you’ve got the cute blind lawyer thing going for you and I just can’t help myself—“

 

“Dick,” he says, turning to giving me a punch on the shoulder that actually does sting a bit. But he’s grinning from ear to ear and he allows me to capture him right back in his arms. _The only arms he’ll ever belong to,_ I slip that thought in there—just for myself. You know. Just in case.

 


End file.
